


Burning my winter

by hoshinokonpeito



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Don't Judge Me, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Not romance if you don't want to see it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoshinokonpeito/pseuds/hoshinokonpeito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would be summer eternally if he keeps watching him playing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning my winter

The winter in Tokyo is as cold as Ogiwara remembers from the time that he lived there, but that doesn't mean he can endure the wind which freezes his bones when it starts to blow... Even if he was covered by several layers of thick clothes and an ugly sweater — in gaudy yellow that made him want to scream — under the warm coat, his body shivers with a chill and the teenager understands that he is no longer used to that weather.

The orange haired male also has a scarf in autumn colours to protect himself against the cold, and Shigehiro sniffles before hiding his face against the soft fabric because he isn't capable of feeling the tip of his nose anymore: it wouldn't be a surprise if his face is all red because of the low temperature and he mumbles a curse against his parents since they were the culprits of offering their son as an improvised errand boy to a relative.

His uncle is a kind man who lives near the house where Ogiwara's family lived before that his father got a better job in other prefecture and they had to move. He actually likes him a lot, but Shigehiro would rather stay near the window — looking at his old house and remembering the good times — than walk outside because they were lacking of drinks.

Then, he realized — the weather could be the same but he isnt the person he used to be.

Ogiwara used to be one of these audacious boys who were always defying the cold, pulling down their scarfs, just because they wanted to look their warm breath turning into whirls of white mist when it left their mouths. But that was his way to enjoy the life, through small reckless actions like eating an exotic flavoured ice-cream in the middle of December or dismissing the fact that he had swallowed a piece of gum, even if his classmates never stopped to say that it would be glued to his organs and his tummy would explode.

Back then, he thought he could breathe completely off of basketball, so it didn't matter if he ended up empty inside.

Now Ogiwara knows that he can continue living despite the fact that he doesn't feel again the rough touch of a ball under his hands, either the sound of the sole of his shoes against the floor of the court making a sound that flooded his ears, or his teammate's voices, warming up his chest... At times, it's a bit difficult, but after a little more than two years, it eventually becomes a habit and barely weights anymore.

Shigehiro also remembers the long way back to home that he used to love because there was a court where he spent endeless hours bouncing the ball and making some free shots. The teenager used to do it with his best friend, before they entered in middle school, and he kept doing the same during those three years — after classes, or after team practices — as if he was thirsty of basketball and he never could have enough of it.

Then, they came — with cold eyes and wearing winter colours. And he never felt as before.

It brings him some bittersweet memories about a time that he wants to forget because he promised to himself that he never would cry again, since the tears the male shed that day were enough to drown the player that he was in them... Now that his eyes are itching, he just shakes his head, although that doesn't stop his chest from feeling tight.

The cheerful atmosphere in the Christmas meeting with his family was making the orange haired boy feel slighty sick, due to the fact that he couldn't fit with their smiles — he forgot how to do it — and their lively chats. Shigehiro feels like a fish out of the water, recalling memories of good times with his eyes stuck in the sight of a family that wasn't his, but they were watching the TV in his old living room and erasing any trace of Ogiwara's family in that place.

Sometimes he wonders if his height was still marked into the door's frame.

His light-coloured eyes give a last glance to the plastic bag in his hand, reaching the conclusion that it isn't absolutely necessary to continue the celebration and the errand boy needs some freedom right now, even if he was walking like he was trying to run away — or reach something. Because Shigehiro still knows what awaits him when he turns the corner, and it couldn't hurt him but he doesn't want to test it when his heart is barely alive.

(That's what happens when you love something and keep nothing for you, right? You love, love, _love_... And you realize that your soul has dried, but it's too late.)

The last year in Meiko was also his last connection with the sport, so Shigehiro feels half stupid — damn it, it's _just_ basketball...! — and half scared because he doesn't know how to react... As if he was paying a visit to an old friend he hasn't seen in a long while, the palm of his hands start to sweat and he swallows before walking forward.

A step. Then another. It's after the third one when he starts to curse his fate.

A ball is bouncing at full speed against the ground - Ogiwara can tell that someone is dribbling, even if he actually isn't capable of seeing nothing because the corner is on his way, due of the characteristic sound of the rubber material hitting the floor. It means that someone else is there besides him, but he couldn't care less about the stranger when the vibration is pressing more into his chest than in his ears... Like his heart was throbbing at the same rhythm, it's uncomfortably warm when his body remembers better than him and Shigehiro runs.

It feels like one of those slow motion scenes from an action movie, where the hero is chasing the bad guys to punish them but he knows that it's real... The teenager can feel how his legs are moving even if he doesn't want to, also the ground through the sole of his shoes — why suddenly the world is that bright? The colours round him mixing with each other to make a new perfect shade in a blurry shape that he doesn't manage to figure out, he neither needs it when the sound of a bouncing ball is hitting his tympanum.

As soon as the orange haired teenager reaches the mentioned corner, his fingers held it tightly before propelling himself with a powerful push, as if he could move a building only with his bare hands. Of course, the structure doesn't move but he has to keep the balance when his right knee is about to scrape against the cement — that would hurt — and the colours around him are brighter and brighter every step that he takes.

Then, _everything_ explodes in red — his world starting to warm up.

His fingers crackle violently when he held the metal fence surrounding/around the court — at least, it doesn't hurt. But that cold material digs into the phalanges and draws red lines in his skin after a while.

He doesn't give a single thought about the plastic bag which was forgotten in a spot between the corner and the court, but his biggest concern right now is about the mysterious player who controls the ball like an extension of his own body and not about the drinks that he dropped in the way. The boy is pretty much taller than Ogiwara, his hair is coloured between deep crimson and flaming red and he wears a t-shirt in black, with short sleeves even if Tokyo is cold during the winter — a reckless idiot, right? That's exactly what he used to be, and it makes him swallow.

Ogiwara can't tell if it's because he hasn't seen even one match between professional players or the stranger is really good playing basketball, but his movements achieve captivating him and — suddenly, he has to move his hand to his throat, because it's dry and Shigehiro feels like he needs to take a sip of basketball again.

The player behaves full of self-confidence when he runs though the court; albeit that reminds him to a generation of broken people with amazing talents, Shigehiro forgets everything just as soon as the male jumps — wow, that's possible in real life? He wonders if the redhead have thrills to pull him that high — to dunk the ball into the rim like it's the easier thing to do.

It would be summer eternally if he keeps watching him playing.

Then, he turns over his heels to look at him - please, please... Shigehiro begs, because he doesn't want to see cold eyes anymore.

"Do you wanna play?" asks the stranger, blurred thanks to his teary eyes.

His glance is as shining as fire.

**Author's Note:**

> My first — published, at least — contribution to this fandom is also the first fic hosted in AO3 (perhaps, the world) about one of the weirdest ships that I have in KuroBasu: right now I'm feeling ashamed due to I don't want to be kicked out of this fandom yet, but in other hand I'm proud because it's always good to be the number one in something!
> 
> As you can tell due to the unusual pairing, the story behind this work is strange enough to make me ship them together. But I can summarize this brave gesture of madness into my desire to watch Ogiwara enjoying basketball again — and, we know, Kagami is the answer in those matters.
> 
> Kuroko is briefly mentioned into the fic because I wanted to focus myself into Ogiwara's feelings. Also, this story was written few weeks after Teiko's arc ended but I wrote it in my mother language, so this is a free translation (and remake) of the original one, which means: nothing to do with the actual timeline because I never expected Ogiwara's appereance after the Q268! — better said, the guy who looks like him. 
> 
> That was the main reason because my friend Rina — I hate you — pushed me to translate this thing, while my loveable sister Karran — SouSou, thank you so much for everything — and my daddy were helping me with the text.
> 
> I'm sorry? (Actually — not much)


End file.
